


Never

by Temaris



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-01
Updated: 2000-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathor took what she wanted. Some things were never hers to take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never

Never thought of him that way. Never wanted to. Never occurred to you to.

Never happened.

\---------------------------------------

"Jack," a casual nod in passing, and you don't let your eyes meet. No lingering glances. They might hold thoughts, and thoughts could hold ... anything.

"Daniel," He sounds okay, he sounds normal, so you pretend nothing happened. He never says much but you remember that you do, and suddenly you're bewildered at the thought that you _must_ talk, must chatter away, find something fascinating, tell them -- and then Jack can tell you to shut up--

      _&lt;"Silence, Beloved..."&gt;_

And you're not thinking of that. Just watching the briefing, watching Teal'c watching Jack watching Hammond. You wonder what's missing, and see it-- her, Sam. Watching you, deep and humiliating pity in her eyes, and you wonder, you wonder what she knows, how she knows...

      _&lt;Yessss. Like that, Beloved. My brave First Prime, like that...&gt;_

And you don't remember, you don't, you don't. Not the silence and the heat, not the pressure and the sweat and the pain.... Not-- no. Not anything except pain. You live in the pain, dwell on it, inhabit it... When did pain become such a home? Ah, Sha'uri, twice lost.

      _&lt;Hold him still, Jaffa. How beautiful you are, how beautiful you both are.&gt;_

"--Are you alright, Dr Jackson?" You realise that the general's eyes are on you too, and all the other eyes have followed him, and _he_ is looking, and you don't want to see his eyes, you _can't_ meet his eyes. You never met them once during--

"I'm fine," you choke out, and hesitate in the silence of the briefing room. "I think maybe I-- I-- more time--" and you leave, absent yourself without leave, and that's almost funny for a moment. But you flee, the room, the corridors, the complex where it was, because you can't bear to stay.

You watch tv. There's nothing on, but it doesn't matter, the nothing on the tv is better than the something on your mind. You doze off, and jerk awake. No sleep. Another thing that she has taken away from you, with your innocence and comfort. Horror comes in your sleep, but it's too late, and you see it all again, lucidity telling you you're asleep, and insane fear, it's fear, it is, it is, telling you it's real, oh, real.

The haze of pleasure, her breath, soft and rich, redolent with sweetness that warmed from the centre of your heart to the corners of your soul, and so blissful you forgot pain, forgot duty, and let memory herself slip away unhindered. Oh and the sweet, soul deep pleasure of her touch, her smooth hands on your skin, your body in hers, moving and moving in the slick, heavy scented heat of her, and the almost pain of finishing, of her leaving you unformed and mewling for more...

You try to wake, but this too is true, and must be dreamed, and you remember her voice, clear and crisp, "First Prime, attend us!" And then her voice so sweet and loving, "Beloved, let me help you, you want more?" and you moan, "Yes, oh please," and your body strains towards her, reaches for her, and she laughs, "On your knees, Beloved," so you kneel up, gazing across the makeshift bed at her kohl-wide eyes. "Behind him, Jaffa," and you have no idea, none at all, oh god, you remember the innocence. She smiles at you, and murmurs as the bed shifts behind you, "Take him, my First Prime. Pleasure me with his pleasure."

You can only see her. Only her body, barely covered with thin draperies. Nothing else, as the arms wrap round you, one about your chest, one on your hips. Watching her stomach shift and swell with the goa'uld children you have planted there, co-creator of monsters, ripening with unholy speed as she strokes a glowing hand over her womb. Nothing but that as he holds you open and pushes, shove by shove, nudge by nudge, forcing his way inside, both of you listening to her obscene delight. You're not involved, it's not really you pushing back with your hips, eager for penetration, for the thick flesh tearing you open to press deeper, move harder, fill you more completely. You aren't gasping, begging, groaning as both his hands grip your hips and drive with hard, sharp thrusts through you, smirching your soul. Your eyes only on hers as he takes you, green eyes cat like in hidden amusement and satiation until you both, moving in the helpless greed of sex, climax, him deep into you, you spattering onto her, and she ripples towards you, licking the droplets from one hand. "Well, Beloved. It seems you enjoyed pleasuring me. Jaffa!" You collapse as the soft length of flesh jerks out of you, like a strip of yourself tearing you inside out, and never even notice as she leaves, ordering him to dress and follow.

You wake. You go to the kitchen. A glass of water, gulp it down. Another, not thinking about why your throat is dry. Throat dry, sheets wet...

"Danny," the voice is soft and the glass shatters on the floor in response.

You clear it away, wordless.

"Daniel?"

You can't reply. You can't bear to. It's impossible, so impossible you never imagined it, never thought of it, and it's not real.

How could it be?

"Daniel, I-- I guess I wanted to check you were okay." You watch, words torn away, mind still and empty. Waiting.

"I think -- I remember-- Aw, hell, Daniel, she _made_ me - you, made _us_." In the broken hesitations you hear an unexpected truth, and tears become a relief, not a marker of pain. "And I'm sorry."

A hand rests on your shoulder and it's a hand that is real, that you remember. It has offered safety time without measure and it does so again even if the shape fits into the bruises on your hidden bones. "Danny?"

And you look up from your knees at the man crouched before you, and lean forwards, resting on him. Letting his arms envelop you. Letting the unreality return. And maybe he sees something in your eyes, or in your heart, and those hands gather and protect, and those thin, straight lips quirk and press gently to your own, and you understand, finally, that it was not only her. That Hathor has no power in this place; and you wrap yourself in his arms and weep.

Never thought of it. Never wanted to. Never occurred to you.

Never letting go.


End file.
